Having dinner was the only time I talked face-to-face with my mother when we lived together. When I saw my face through the mirror on the table while living in the UK, it was like my mother’s face and mine gradually overlapped. I had longed for a world far away but gradually forgot what my mother looked like. I am an essential part of her life, but I have never truly delved into her past. I began looking for her, embracing our memories. Has she been in my life? And how did I come to know her across time?
